


Far Away Home

by aurilly



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-13
Updated: 2008-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-02 19:35:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurilly/pseuds/aurilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Explaining where Molly went at the beginning of season three, and also exploring her relationship with Mohinder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Far Away Home

"Would you like something to drink?"

The flight attendant leaned into Molly's seat and handed her first a napkin and then two rolls---the people across the aisle had only gotten one, so Molly knew she was getting special treatment.

"Do you have ginger ale?" she asked.

"Of course," the nice French lady replied, and gave her a can along with a glass. "Just press the bell if you want more or if there's anything else you need."

"Merci." Mohinder had taught Molly that. It made the lady smile.

Molly had never sat so still for so long in her entire life. The layover didn't count---either as a chance to move or even as a chance to register that she was in a foreign country for the first time---because she'd done all the sleeping that she hadn't been able to do during the actual overnight flight on a couple of chairs at the gate. One of the ladies had stayed with her and done some work while she slept. The only memory Molly had of Paris was a cup of hot chocolate someone had given her. It was good. Then it was time to get on the never-ending flight from Paris to Chennai. Molly knew from the maps that India was far away from New York, but she had never had a chance to realize exactly what 'far away' actually meant before now.

Everyone was being extremely nice to her, but it all felt phony and empty. All the pretty French flight attendants with their identical silk scarves sticking up out of their identical blue blazers had smiled and blushed when Mohinder gave them the instructions before handing Molly off to them. Molly knew what was going on, but it didn't make any sense. Mohinder wasn't even there. Being nice to her wasn't going to make him like them. They were never going to see him again.

At this thought, Molly choked back a sob. Forget these ladies. What if she was never going to see him again?

Molly tried watching the television again, but she'd already watched everything interesting on the flight from New York to Paris. All that was left were weird movies in another language that seemed to be about boring grown-up problems. Normal people problems, not like the type Mohinder and Matt had. There were subtitles, but Molly was too tired to read them. Too tired to sleep, yet also too tired to read. She had hoped that there would be another kid on the flight with her, but there wasn't. It was the middle of the week, so the plane was pretty empty. At least she got an entire three-seater to herself and could curl her feet up next to her.

Molly pulled out colored pencils and the beautiful sketchbook Mohinder had bought her so long ago. She couldn't think of what to draw, so she looked over her past accomplishments. The book was almost full. There hadn't been time for him to buy her a new one. Molly wondered if she could get a new one in India. Did they have things like that in other countries? All she'd seen of France was the airport---Molly couldn't pronounce the name of it---but France had seemed like the kind of place that had sketchbooks. As they walked between terminals, Molly had seen stores with makeup and teddy bears and magazines. A country that had those things should have art supplies. But that was France. Molly didn't really know anything about India beyond the bedtime stories Mohinder had told her in the early days, before he'd realized he should take her shopping for clothes and books and drug store things. After that, he had read her more normal stories from normal books.

But Molly had liked those early stories the best. She liked the way he tilted his head and stuck his tongue out when he tried to remember what came next, and the way his eyes crinkled when he finally did. It felt like Mohinder was being a kid with her, enjoying along with her the same stories he had liked when he was little. Molly liked that just as much as she liked the weird stories themselves, with the funny character names and endings that weren't like the endings she was used to. But Mohinder had seemed so pleased and proud of himself when he got the normal books that Molly never had the heart to tell him that she liked the stories from his head better. But then again, she had also never told him that she was too old for bedtime stories in general.

* * *

Tears running down her face in the dark, Molly walks the well-worn path between her room and Mohinder's. The door is partly open, but the squeak of the hinge as she pushes it wakes him up. Wordlessly, Mohinder stretches his arm out to turn on the lamp and scoots over to just one side of the bed. He groggily pats the space next to him, and Molly climbs under the sheets, curling up against his warm chest. He's sleepy, but he patiently strokes her hair while she cries.

"Same one?" he finally asks.

Molly nods and knows she doesn't have to explain. Mohinder knows the nightmares that plague her, the real-life memories that play in her mind when she sleeps. This is the fourth time this week, and there have been about four times every week in the month since she moved in with Mohinder. 

"Why us? Why my parents and me?" she demands angrily. "How did he know who we were and where we lived?" She knows there can't possibly be an answer to this, but it bothers her anyway.

There's a long and strangely uncomfortable pause and he sighs. "It wasn't just you. I watched Sylar kill my father, as well," he admits quietly.

This shakes Molly's world. 

"What?! Not the same man?"

Mohinder nods. "The very same."

"You never told me that!" Molly suddenly feels very selfish. All this time, she's been worried about her own parents and her own nightmares, and Mohinder's been having the same problem, too. Wow, his sister had the same virus at the same age, and Sylar killed his dad. Molly wonders how many other things she and Mohinder have in common.

"I didn't want to trouble you more. But now I'm wondering if it's more important that you don't feel alone," he explains.

"He's dead now," she reminds him, in an effort to comfort him.

"Yes." There's an even longer pause before he adds, "But somehow that doesn't seem to make it better. I… I still feel guilty," he sighs, more to himself than to her.

"Do you have nightmares, too?" Molly asks. She isn't sure what he has to feel guilty about, so she writes that statement off as Mohinder babbling because he's tired. He certainly didn't kill anyone.

"Yes, I have nightmares sometimes. Different ones from yours, though. More about things I wish I had done differently."

Molly still doesn't really understand, but she snuggles in closer to him and makes a resolution to pay more attention to Mohinder's welfare to make up for not noticing something was wrong before. "Well, next time you have one, you should come to my room and get in bed with me the way I come and get in bed with you."

Mohinder smiles at this. "It's a deal."

Molly continues to mull over this new information. "Did you hide, too?"

"What do you mean?" he asks gently, in the patient tone he always uses when he has no idea what she's talking about.

"You said you watched it happen. When he came to my house, I hid in the cupboard under the stairs. That's why he didn't get me. Is that what you did to not get killed, too?"

Mohinder looks off into space. "No, it wasn't like that. I saw it in a dream about a month after it happened. I wasn't actually there."

This makes absolutely no sense, especially coming from Mohinder, who would never believe in silly things like dreams. "Then how do you know it's true?"

Mohinder mulls this over, as if it's the first time this has come up. "That's actually a good question. It's---it's complicated. I was back in India for a few days and met a boy about your age in my home town. He could show people things in dreams. It was his ability, a special ability like yours. I suppose he somehow knew that I needed to see certain things, so he showed them to me in dreams."

"What was his name?"

"Sanjog Iyer."

Molly likes knowing that there are kids other than herself and Micah out there with abilities, but this one sounds suspicious. 

"I don't know. I still don't know if I would believe it if I only saw it in a dream."

"He also didn't deny it when I brought it up," Mohinder mumbles.

Molly jumps up. "You talked to him? To the boogeyman? You actually knew him?"

Mohinder nods and reaches over to turn the light off again. "Yes. But let's not dwell on that. I think we've already talked too much. Maybe it was a bad idea to bring it up. As you said, he's dead now. And as soon as he stops showing up in our nightmares, he'll be gone for good. Let's go to sleep." It's dark again, and he rolls over, putting an arm around her.

As if Molly could sleep after a bombshell like that. He won't say anything else about it for the rest of the night, or ever, as a matter of fact. Molly tosses and turns, thinking about the fact that Mohinder had spoken to the boogeyman and lived. For someone with no powers, Mohinder is pretty badass. 

She feels naughty for even thinking such a word.

* * *

This airport wasn't nearly as nice as JFK or LAX or the unpronounceable Paris one. The ceilings were lower and there wasn't any air conditioning. But Molly didn't mind it so much, because she finally got to walk around again, after all these hours. Molly's luggage was in a separate place; she felt special when she didn't have to wait by the snaking suitcase machine like everyone else. Unlike the lady who had spent most of both flights looking after Molly, the French lady who was with her now---Mireille, she said her name was---seemed almost as lost as Molly herself. It wasn't very reassuring. Maybe she was new. She wheeled both of Molly's suitcases through the crowd.

"Do you know what she looks like?" Mireille asked. Although she was kind of useless, Molly liked the way Mireille talked. Her accent was much stronger than the other ladies'. Molly thought for a moment that maybe it would have been nice to have this one talk to Mohinder; their voices would have sounded pretty together. Molly got a lump in her throat thinking of that.

"No." Molly had only seen that one really old picture from before Mohinder was born. She probably didn't look like that anymore.

"Well, if she is here, I think she will come to us." With this observation, Mireille stopped right in the middle of the pathway, in front of all the people lined up to receive their friends, and rested her hand on Molly's shoulder. She looked around expectantly.

This didn't make any sense. "Why do you think so? How will she know?"

"Because you are the only non-Indian little girl here without any parents."

Molly wondered how Mireille knew she didn't have any parents. Mohinder hadn't told them. But she turned out to be right. A minute later, a lady came up to them. She was dressed in fancy robes like all the other women waiting in the airport. "Hello, I'm here for Molly Walker?" Her voice was completely different from Mohinder's.

"Are you Mohinder's mom?" Molly asked. She didn't look like the picture anymore, and it wasn't just because she was older. Her eyes no longer danced.

"Madame Suresh, yes? I am glad you have arrived. I must ask you to show some identification before I give Molly to you." Mireille looked relieved. The Indian woman fished in the folds of her robes for a little book. But Molly knew it was alright. This lady had Mohinder's nose and the same way of bunching her eyebrows when she was looking for something.

Mireille looked over the document and smiled before looking down at Molly. "I know you will have a nice time in India," she said.

Molly didn't agree, but she wasn't sure what to say that wouldn't be rude. "Merci."

Mireille handed Mrs. Suresh a bunch of papers, as well as Molly's bags. She patted Molly on the head and disappeared into the crowd. That was the end of all the transitional French ladies. Now she was just in India.

Molly and Mohinder's mom regarded one another quietly while the bustle of the airport surrounded them.

"What am I supposed to call you?"

"You can call me Anjali."

That made sense. Molly had called Mohinder 'Mohinder' almost from day one. "Okay. It's nice to meet you. I'm Molly," she said, just to clarify.

Mohinder's mom's---Anjali's---smile was almost as wide as Mohinder's. "I know. Come, Molly. Let's go home."

Home. Huh.

Anjali made a motion to a man across the room. He came over and took Molly's suitcases. The three of them walked towards the exit. It was nighttime. She'd missed a whole day sitting in the plane. It was all very noisy and Molly had to pay attention not to get lost. Anjali stayed next to her, but didn't hold her hand. She didn't really say anything as they put the suitcases into the car, and she didn't say anything during the ride. Molly wasn't sure if it was because the man was there, or if it was because Anjali didn't like her.

* * *

The phone rings and Molly realizes it's the first time that's happened since she got here a few days before. Mohinder jumps out of his chair. He clearly isn't very used to the sound either. He looks at the clock, then looks at the phone, then looks at Molly, then bites his lip. 

The ringing continues.

"Aren't you going to answer that?" Molly asks. She doesn't understand what the problem is. It's probably just a friend of his. He should want to talk to them. 

"Um…" Mohinder trails off and continues to stare at the phone, looking scared, as if it might pick itself up by magic, the way the boogeyman could pick things up with magic.

"Do you want me to get it?" she presses. This only seems to make Mohinder more frantic, so she sits back down.

The phone rings some more and then stops. He lets out a deep breath but looks very guilty about something. 

"It's a nice morning. How do you feel about going for a walk? I'll take you to brunch," Mohinder suggests, and quickly grabs their jackets and shoes. He hustles her into the hallway before she quite knows what's going on.

As they head down the stairs, she can faintly hear the phone start ringing again in the apartment.

They go to Stone Park Café, and it's definitely the nicest restaurant anyone's ever taken her to. Mohinder's clearly distracted, because he lets her order so much food that she's sure she'll be sick later. While she digs into mounds of French toast and sausage and eggs, he just picks at an omelet and says he isn't very hungry. He orders something called a Bloody Mary. As if the name wasn't cool enough, when it comes, it's red and has celery in it. Molly's never seen anything like it before, but Mohinder says she can't have any. It's the first time he's told her 'no' about anything. He drinks it really quickly and then orders something else called a mimosa that comes in a really beautiful glass. He says she's not allowed to have any of that either. 

She knows something's wrong, between his panic about the phone and the way he's fidgeting with his napkin, practically tying it into a knot in his lap, but she has a feeling he won't tell her what it is. He just sits there, drinking his secret drinks, looking at the other tables with parents and kids, and watching Molly eat like he's seeing her for the first time. After awhile she decides to stop worrying and just concentrate on the opportunity to eat bacon. She's only known him for a few days, but she can already tell that Mohinder isn't the kind of person who would make it for her at home.

All of a sudden, Mohinder snaps to attention and starts talking to her, asking lots of questions about the most random things: what she likes to do (draw), what her favorite thing to eat is (peanut butter and jelly---he makes a grossed-out face at this), what she wants to be when she grows up (an explorer). He's still visibly nervous about something, but Molly likes the interrogation. They were already friends, from the first day they met, but somehow she feels like they're actually getting acquainted now. 

After awhile, she begins throwing his questions right back at him. What he likes to do (research), no, what he really likes to do (play cricket), what his favorite thing to eat is (lentil soup), no, seriously Mohinder (he insists about the soup, and Molly feels a pang of disappointment that even Mohinder, the most interesting adult she's ever met, still has some boring grown-up traits), what he wants to be when he grows up (Molly meant this as a joke question since he's already grown-up and a doctor, but he surprises her by saying he doesn't really know anymore… anything, just as long as he can continue to help people like her).

After brunch, they stop at the Barnes &amp; Noble. Mohinder keeps one eye on Molly while she sits in the children's section, but he sticks mostly to another section. He gets her some books of illustrated stories and the most beautiful sketchbook she's ever seen, but she notices that he also buys a few grown-up-looking books with pictures of kids on the front. After this, he seems much more relaxed, like his old self again---not that his old self was all that relaxed, but still. They pass a playground near the bookstore, and Mohinder perks up like it's the first time he's ever noticed it, even though it's only a few blocks from the house. While she's on the equipment, Mohinder sits on a bench, half watching her and half skimming one of his books, all while quietly observing the other parents and kids.

All that week, he assaults her with a barrage of questions: if she's allergic to anything, what subjects she liked best at school, when she last went to the dentist. These questions are less fun than the last set, so she doesn't turn them back around on him. It's funny to watch him make little notes of her answers, as if he thinks it's important. And yet, the action makes her feel important. On Friday, he tells her that he's registered her to start at a new school in a couple of weeks. In some ways, it'll be nice to go back to school again, because she was pretty lonely for awhile, but now that she has Mohinder to hang out with all the time, she hasn't been as lonely.

Practically reading her mind, he says, "You should be spending your days with other children your age, not with an old fart like me."

"You aren't old," she retorts. This makes him smile. She learned a long time ago that grown-ups like to be told that. But in his case, she means it.

The next Sunday comes around and the phone rings again, at the same time. The only difference is that this time, Mohinder is more normal about it.

"Will you excuse me, Molly?"

She nods, and he takes the still ringing phone into his bedroom and shuts the door. 

She only really hears what's going on when he gets annoyed with whoever he's talking to and his voice gets louder for a second. "It's a long story… No, trust me, you wouldn't understand, it's better for you not to know the details… Look, when I say I'm doing fine, I mean it… I'm not being rude!... As if I had anywhere to send her back to (this one almost makes Molly cry)… I know this isn't what I came here for, but it's why I'm here now… I'm figuring it out… No, I don't need any help. I can do this on my own. I'm in control of this… Well, actually, I do have a question that I would love to ask you if you would please calm down…"

When he comes out again, he looks really frustrated. Molly is scared to ask what's up, and isn't even sure what question she should start with.

"Hi there," he says, and forces a smile. She knows he's still stressed out, but he's trying to let her know that it will be ok.

"Was that your girlfriend?" Molly ventures hesitantly. 

Mohinder pulls his head back in shock and then breaks into full-body laughter. When it starts to subside, he wrinkles his nose. "Actually, it's kind of sad how funny that is." The laughter loosens him up, though. He scoops her up and twirls her around, looking more relieved than she's seen him since before the last time the phone rang. "That was my mother."

Molly marvels at this. Her grandparents are all dead, so she sometimes forgets that grown-ups have parents, too. "Your mother? But you were so rude."

He looks startled. "You heard?"

"Only bits. I wasn't trying to listen, I promise. You just got kind of loud sometimes."

He mulls over her previous statement. "It's different when you get older," he explains, as he puts her down on the couch. He towers over her and wags a finger. "But don't take my behavior as license to talk to me like that."

Molly wants to get to the point. "She's mad that I'm living with you, right?"

Mohinder sits down next to her and takes her hands. "She doesn't understand why I took you in, why I want to have you here. There are a lot of things she doesn't know, so it's hard for her to understand this. But don't worry. It'll be ok."

From the way Mohinder's looking at her, Molly believes him, but wants some final reassurance. "Are you going to send me away?"

"Never."


End file.
